"The Collector of Souls"
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dochermes"The Collector of Souls"
8/11/1943
I.
Through the open doorway, three gunmen surged into the room with their big 45 automatics swinging from side to side. Behind them, keeping well back, was a thin man in a dark suit that was too large for him. A white cloth mask had evidently been constructed hastily from a pillow case and tied at the neck with a shoelace. The eyeholes were ragged and did not match.
"Green Devil," rasped the masked man as he saw the young woman waiting for them. In her waist-length leather jacket, snug pants and riding boots all dark midnight green, she was unarmed. But her pose with hands resting on hips showed confidence. Nothing of her features could be seen. Her motorcycle helmet had its visor down. Two short curved horns had been fastened to the top of that helmet.
"Oh, forget about trying to disguise your voice, Drury," Kelly O'Connor sang back. "I know it's you."
"Drury? Phil Drury the writer? What makes you think I have anything to do with him?"
"Please. Give me some credit," the Green Devil snorted. "You were the only one who knew I was coming here tonight. That's why you rushed to get your goons."
As the thugs glanced back at him, the masked man gestured for them to spread out. "Cover her. Stay out of reach. She's a tricky little skirt. All I want is the Collector of Souls, girlie. I see it there on that counter behind you."
"Mr Drury. Really" The Green Devil did not make the mistake of turning back to see what the much discussed Collector of Souls actually looked like. "Let me tell you how you slipped up. The gas that you released at Wainscot's house was deadly all right. Potassium cyanide. Luckily I wasn't there. But then the gas that was used at your own house made everyone sick as dogs...but we still managed to get out. It wasn't the same gas. It was harmful but not fatal."
Folding his arms, the masked man exhaled sharply. "I don't know why I'm bothering to listen. But go on. How do you know this?"
The Green Devil was standing in the center of the display room, next to a bronze bust on a pedestal of some bearded philosopher. She rested an elbow on the metal head with regained sauciness. "Oh, I don't have a degree in chemistry. Not even someone as clever as myself knows everything. But the Sting was hidden in that room. He got out through a rear door. He told me he recognized the scent of sodium trichlormate. It's rarely fatal unless you make a point to breathe it all night."
"I believe you're genuinely looney," the masked man said. "Give me the Collector of Souls and no one has to be hurt."
"So the whole business was a charade to divert suspicion off you," Kelly continued. "Everybody would think the mysterious killer had tried to snuff out your life as well. You're a devious little bird."
Trying to stay out of a crosfire if his men opened up, the mastermind took a few steps to the side and leaned back against the wood-paneled door. "So the Sting is cutting himself in on this? That guy double-crosses everyone. All the mobsters he makes deals with end up behind bars or six feet under."
"You ought to know about double crosses." The Green Devil straightened up against, adjusted her dark leather jacket where it had ridden up and clapped her palms lightly together. "And by now, you should realize that wherever you find the Sting, you'll find the Dragon of Midnight!"
As those words were spoken, a slim dark figure leaped through the solid wall behind the masked man, passing through wood and plaster like a ghost. The Dragon of Midnight was in his all-black stalking outfit including the full-face mask. He seized the mastermind by one arm at wrist and elbow, swiveling around to fling the man reeling straight at the confused gunmen. Reacting before thinking, one of the thugs blasted off two shots that ripped into his boss's abdomen.
Even in the split second that this was happening, the Green Devil hoisted the bronze bust and flung it with all the strength she had. She put so much into the throw that she lost her balance and fell to her knees. The deep thump of the heavy object smacking against a gunman's face was lost in the echoes of the gunshots an instant earlier. Kelly O'Connor vaulted lightly back up on her feet as the two remaining mobsters started shooting wildly in her general direction.
Faster than her conscious mind could have judged the moves, Kelly's arms swirled in outward circular motions. Both her palms stung but were not harmed as she slapped bullets away. One ricochet shattered a glass display case.
Less than a full second had passed. Even as the gunmen were firing at Kelly, Chen lunged in close. He drove a knee up into one man's stomach, pivotting to blast a looping reverse punch that broke the other man's jaw. They both fell, one vomiting and the other man pawing in agony at his ruined face. Chen Lee-Sun moved as smoothly as if he had planned what to do in such a situation. He snatched up the handguns with his gloved hands and tossed them to the far side of the room.
Kelly tentatively raised the clear visor on her helmet. Her upper features were still hidden by the green silk mask. She rubbed her palms together gingerly. The skin was not broken, there were no bruises, but she wanted to be sure her strange ability hadn't failed her. "Dragon of Midnight to the rescue," she said.
The dark mask turned toward her. Chen's voice said, "I heard everything from the next room. You could not have known I would enter when you gave me the cue."
"I thought it was worth a try. Good gracious, you have GOT to start teaching me how to fight like that. It's like poetry. Fred Astaire is clumsy next to you."
"Hah." Chen was straightening the suffering injured men out on the floor despite their feeble resistance. "Are you willing to train three hours a day for the next few years?"
"Um, well, I do have a day job," Kelly replied. "And at night I'm gallivanting around in this get-up. Maybe I could practice on my lunch break..."
Chen had examined the wounded mastermind, pressing a fold of the man's coat to where blood was seeping out quickly to pool on the bare wooden floor. "Even if we were to call for an ambulance, this man has a poor chance of surviving. His minions are not as badly hurt."
"You're not going to let him bleed out and die, are you? That's not right, Ch--Dragon."
"Far from it." The lean figure in black hauled all four of the gangsters together until they were almost huddled on top of each other. "Bring that blue ceramic jar over here."
Beginning to understand, the Green Devil felt sick and unsteady. She crossed over to the counter on top of which sat the Collector of Souls. Three feet high, a glazed turqoise-colored jar with a silver stopper at its plug, the ancient artifact was inscribed with esoteric symbols from a nation that had not existed for thousands of years. She picked it up despite her misgivings and handed it to Chen.
"If you do not have the stomach for retribution, you may wait in the hall," he said.
"Don't rush me! Damn it, Chen, I don't know how they do things back in China but we're in the U.S. now. We have laws, even if those gunners did try to kill us, we have something called right to a trial..."
"Stop," he snapped. "Green Devil, this is a matter older than America. Older than even China. These men work for a vile Fang Shih warlock. They want the Collector of Souls and they shall have it." He got down on one knee and gripped the jar's stopper. "Wait outside. Please."
Spinning, Kelly left the display room and slammed the door behind her. She was in the foyer where a coat rack and a padded bench were the only furnishings. Suddenly she felt stifled. It was foolish to reveal herself, but Kelly unfastened the modified motorcycle helmet and tugged it off, then yanked the green silk mask off as well. She dropped down on the bench with her face uncovered, taking deep breaths to steady herself.
From behind the door came deep painful groans that ended as if cut off. Kelly brushed back her red hair and found it was damp with cold sweat. She shivered visibly. Those moans...
A second later, the door swung outward and Chen staggered through as if on an uncertain surface. He held the Collector of Souls tucked firmly in the crook of his right arm.
"Is it over?" Kelly asked.
Seeing her plaintive face, Chen Lee-Sun took a seat next to her on the bench. He untied his own mask, the full hood with the rampant dragon outlined in thin silver. Only a few years older than she was, the Dragon of Midnight was a handsome man with strong features and a thick tousle of coarse black hair. He studied her face as she watched him.
"We should leave now. My partner waits in our car down the street. I know you left your roadster a mile away, we will drop you off," he said. "Our paths will cross again, little Green Devil."
"What about them? In there?" Kelly demanded. "Are they dead?"
Chen held up the cursed artifact, sealed again with its silver stopper. From within, faint murmuring voices could barely be heard. "Their bodies at least are dead," he told her.
5/29/2020
8/11/1943
I.
Through the open doorway, three gunmen surged into the room with their big 45 automatics swinging from side to side. Behind them, keeping well back, was a thin man in a dark suit that was too large for him. A white cloth mask had evidently been constructed hastily from a pillow case and tied at the neck with a shoelace. The eyeholes were ragged and did not match.
"Green Devil," rasped the masked man as he saw the young woman waiting for them. In her waist-length leather jacket, snug pants and riding boots all dark midnight green, she was unarmed. But her pose with hands resting on hips showed confidence. Nothing of her features could be seen. Her motorcycle helmet had its visor down. Two short curved horns had been fastened to the top of that helmet.
"Oh, forget about trying to disguise your voice, Drury," Kelly O'Connor sang back. "I know it's you."
"Drury? Phil Drury the writer? What makes you think I have anything to do with him?"
"Please. Give me some credit," the Green Devil snorted. "You were the only one who knew I was coming here tonight. That's why you rushed to get your goons."
As the thugs glanced back at him, the masked man gestured for them to spread out. "Cover her. Stay out of reach. She's a tricky little skirt. All I want is the Collector of Souls, girlie. I see it there on that counter behind you."
"Mr Drury. Really" The Green Devil did not make the mistake of turning back to see what the much discussed Collector of Souls actually looked like. "Let me tell you how you slipped up. The gas that you released at Wainscot's house was deadly all right. Potassium cyanide. Luckily I wasn't there. But then the gas that was used at your own house made everyone sick as dogs...but we still managed to get out. It wasn't the same gas. It was harmful but not fatal."
Folding his arms, the masked man exhaled sharply. "I don't know why I'm bothering to listen. But go on. How do you know this?"
The Green Devil was standing in the center of the display room, next to a bronze bust on a pedestal of some bearded philosopher. She rested an elbow on the metal head with regained sauciness. "Oh, I don't have a degree in chemistry. Not even someone as clever as myself knows everything. But the Sting was hidden in that room. He got out through a rear door. He told me he recognized the scent of sodium trichlormate. It's rarely fatal unless you make a point to breathe it all night."
"I believe you're genuinely looney," the masked man said. "Give me the Collector of Souls and no one has to be hurt."
"So the whole business was a charade to divert suspicion off you," Kelly continued. "Everybody would think the mysterious killer had tried to snuff out your life as well. You're a devious little bird."
Trying to stay out of a crosfire if his men opened up, the mastermind took a few steps to the side and leaned back against the wood-paneled door. "So the Sting is cutting himself in on this? That guy double-crosses everyone. All the mobsters he makes deals with end up behind bars or six feet under."
"You ought to know about double crosses." The Green Devil straightened up against, adjusted her dark leather jacket where it had ridden up and clapped her palms lightly together. "And by now, you should realize that wherever you find the Sting, you'll find the Dragon of Midnight!"
As those words were spoken, a slim dark figure leaped through the solid wall behind the masked man, passing through wood and plaster like a ghost. The Dragon of Midnight was in his all-black stalking outfit including the full-face mask. He seized the mastermind by one arm at wrist and elbow, swiveling around to fling the man reeling straight at the confused gunmen. Reacting before thinking, one of the thugs blasted off two shots that ripped into his boss's abdomen.
Even in the split second that this was happening, the Green Devil hoisted the bronze bust and flung it with all the strength she had. She put so much into the throw that she lost her balance and fell to her knees. The deep thump of the heavy object smacking against a gunman's face was lost in the echoes of the gunshots an instant earlier. Kelly O'Connor vaulted lightly back up on her feet as the two remaining mobsters started shooting wildly in her general direction.
Faster than her conscious mind could have judged the moves, Kelly's arms swirled in outward circular motions. Both her palms stung but were not harmed as she slapped bullets away. One ricochet shattered a glass display case.
Less than a full second had passed. Even as the gunmen were firing at Kelly, Chen lunged in close. He drove a knee up into one man's stomach, pivotting to blast a looping reverse punch that broke the other man's jaw. They both fell, one vomiting and the other man pawing in agony at his ruined face. Chen Lee-Sun moved as smoothly as if he had planned what to do in such a situation. He snatched up the handguns with his gloved hands and tossed them to the far side of the room.
Kelly tentatively raised the clear visor on her helmet. Her upper features were still hidden by the green silk mask. She rubbed her palms together gingerly. The skin was not broken, there were no bruises, but she wanted to be sure her strange ability hadn't failed her. "Dragon of Midnight to the rescue," she said.
The dark mask turned toward her. Chen's voice said, "I heard everything from the next room. You could not have known I would enter when you gave me the cue."
"I thought it was worth a try. Good gracious, you have GOT to start teaching me how to fight like that. It's like poetry. Fred Astaire is clumsy next to you."
"Hah." Chen was straightening the suffering injured men out on the floor despite their feeble resistance. "Are you willing to train three hours a day for the next few years?"
"Um, well, I do have a day job," Kelly replied. "And at night I'm gallivanting around in this get-up. Maybe I could practice on my lunch break..."
Chen had examined the wounded mastermind, pressing a fold of the man's coat to where blood was seeping out quickly to pool on the bare wooden floor. "Even if we were to call for an ambulance, this man has a poor chance of surviving. His minions are not as badly hurt."
"You're not going to let him bleed out and die, are you? That's not right, Ch--Dragon."
"Far from it." The lean figure in black hauled all four of the gangsters together until they were almost huddled on top of each other. "Bring that blue ceramic jar over here."
Beginning to understand, the Green Devil felt sick and unsteady. She crossed over to the counter on top of which sat the Collector of Souls. Three feet high, a glazed turqoise-colored jar with a silver stopper at its plug, the ancient artifact was inscribed with esoteric symbols from a nation that had not existed for thousands of years. She picked it up despite her misgivings and handed it to Chen.
"If you do not have the stomach for retribution, you may wait in the hall," he said.
"Don't rush me! Damn it, Chen, I don't know how they do things back in China but we're in the U.S. now. We have laws, even if those gunners did try to kill us, we have something called right to a trial..."
"Stop," he snapped. "Green Devil, this is a matter older than America. Older than even China. These men work for a vile Fang Shih warlock. They want the Collector of Souls and they shall have it." He got down on one knee and gripped the jar's stopper. "Wait outside. Please."
Spinning, Kelly left the display room and slammed the door behind her. She was in the foyer where a coat rack and a padded bench were the only furnishings. Suddenly she felt stifled. It was foolish to reveal herself, but Kelly unfastened the modified motorcycle helmet and tugged it off, then yanked the green silk mask off as well. She dropped down on the bench with her face uncovered, taking deep breaths to steady herself.
From behind the door came deep painful groans that ended as if cut off. Kelly brushed back her red hair and found it was damp with cold sweat. She shivered visibly. Those moans...
A second later, the door swung outward and Chen staggered through as if on an uncertain surface. He held the Collector of Souls tucked firmly in the crook of his right arm.
"Is it over?" Kelly asked.
Seeing her plaintive face, Chen Lee-Sun took a seat next to her on the bench. He untied his own mask, the full hood with the rampant dragon outlined in thin silver. Only a few years older than she was, the Dragon of Midnight was a handsome man with strong features and a thick tousle of coarse black hair. He studied her face as she watched him.
"We should leave now. My partner waits in our car down the street. I know you left your roadster a mile away, we will drop you off," he said. "Our paths will cross again, little Green Devil."
"What about them? In there?" Kelly demanded. "Are they dead?"
Chen held up the cursed artifact, sealed again with its silver stopper. From within, faint murmuring voices could barely be heard. "Their bodies at least are dead," he told her.
5/29/2020
